Eye for a Dream
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: A razor girl and a wannabe sim-star seem like two very different women. But Molly and Rikki have a bit in common. Bobby Quine, for starters. (Set between "Burning Chrome" and "Neuromancer." Ties in with "Mona Lisa Overdrive." Includes a Finn cameo.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: There's a theory on TV Tropes that Molly from "Neuromancer" and Rikki from "Burning Chrome" are the same person. I don't buy it, but it did get me thinking about how much the two women have in common. Molly does tell Case, "I know Quine by the way. Real asshole." Given how Bobby is with women, and poor Molly's luck in romance, a possible interpretation is that she, like Rikki, was once one of Bobby's "good luck charms."**

 **It's unclear how much time passes between "Burning Chrome" and "Neuromancer." This story operates under the assumption that burning the House of Blue Lights is what made Bobby Quine famous among the "consol cowboys," and, must've happened several years before "Neuromancer."**

 **These characters and this setting belong to William Gibson.**

* * *

Rikki gazed at her reflection in the tube window, superimposed over the skyscrapers and bustling patrons of the Sprawl, and decided it was a fitting image for her current state. Rikki Sterling, no longer a resident of the Sprawl, now a ghost speeding through the figures and landmarks of her old life. Doors and windows flew through the dark reflection of her sunglasses, framed by crumbling brick or slick reflective metal. Same old Sprawl, a mesh of old and new. Never gonna change.

She'd left the Sprawl with the intention of not coming back for at least a decade. But Hollywood hadn't gone as planned. Relatively speaking, she _had_ been successful: she'd gotten small gigs, built up a short resume of experience, got an agent and earned a handful of followers. But her image had never found its way onto any posters; she still had to worry about bills and groceries; and her fans were few enough that she probably knew all of them by name. And that was okay, really. Rikki realized, now, that she didn't want or need global adoration like Tally Isham. A tiny fanbase, and a name in the credits of real, published sims, that was all she needed to be happy. But even that modest career wasn't going to happen in California, not right now. She didn't want to return to the Sprawl, but then, she hadn't wanted to become a "puppet," nor break Bobby's heart. But Rikki was driven. She wanted to be a sim star, and she was going to do what it took, however unpleasant.

Her agent back in Hollywood had suggested she just give up on—or, as he worded it, "take a break from"—being a sim star altogether, and try her hand at something else. "Aspiring authors often start off with journals, blogs, short-stories in magazines. Why don't you try traditional film for a while? Or maybe the stage?" That was when Rikki had fired him. She didn't regret doing it, though she knew she probably should. But secretly, she'd decided to take his advice. She was going to make a documentary, a sim-stim recording about "the underground." The side of society that the government tried to conceal from the public, succeeding only marginally, as the average person maintained a loose connection to it through the drugs, sex, and illegal software they purchased. The backdrop of Rikki's childhood.

How truly a part of that world Rikki had been was debatable. She'd never jacked with the consol cowboys, tussled with the augmented street samurai, or talked business with any of the crime lords. But one could argue that if Rikki hadn't been a monarch or a knight of the kingdom of the criminal underworld, she had been a peasant. A bar wench, maybe. She'd dated a few of the cowboys; bought from the drug dealers, moderately; _was_ the drug dealer, on occasion; and had a brief career in a "puppet parlor." Three years away from that life, Rikki still wasn't certain how she felt about leaving it. She was glad she'd got away, but probably not as glad as she should have been. A normal person would consider her life's story tragic, traumatic; to Rikki, it had just been monotonous.

And maybe that was why she'd figured she should have no problem breaking into and handling Hollywood. She could handle the worst parts of the Sprawl, and was accepted into the company of the Big Boys in the biz. So why not in Hollywood?

The tube finally began nearing her stop, and Rikki quickly checked her disguise in her purse mirror. Straightened chin-length hair, tuned bright red. Eyebrows plucked and colored to a thin artificial brown. Eyes hidden behind a pair of black onyx shades. Checking to see no one else in the car was looking, Rikki quickly lifted her sunglasses, to examine her Ikons in the mirror. Bright artificial blue, vat-grown eyes designed specifically for simstim recording, the sapphire iris revealing, upon the closest inspection, the ZEISS IKON logo along the outer ring. She dropped the sunglasses back to her nose. No one need know she was recording anything. And later, of course, she'd edit the tapes, to protect the identities of the criminals unknowingly being interviewed. Less out of respect for her subjects, than for her own safety.

Big risk, she was taking. Life-threatening risk.

Rikki was driven.

* * *

"It's not like I'm an addict," a duster at the counter laughed. "It's more like…"

Rikki muttered the rest of the clichéd joke: "…my body's developed a giant drug deficiency."

There were different ways people worded it, but it was a joke as old as Rikki's grandma.

The Gentleman Loser didn't look like it had changed a day in three years, except for the faces. Different individuals, but still the same crowd. Clusters of computer jockeys trading hacker stories; beefy men and fierce-eyed women flaunting their augmented reflexes and occasional cybernetic limbs; hookers and drug dealers, looking for tricks; middle-aged bartender, looking like she'd rather be anywhere but here. Same old Sprawl.

Rikki moved through the crowded bar with the same confidence she'd owned back when she was a regular patron. Eyes still shaded, she wore a short black raincoat buttoned halfway, over a soft cotton sweater. Not too fancy, but not like she was out clubbing either. Just like someone who'd decided to stop in on her way home from work.

She thought back to her look, the last time she'd been in this bar. Brown curly hair, streaked with blonde. Modest but well-coordinated fashion. Black nails. Face splattered with freckles. Brown eyes. Since moving to California she'd experimented with various fashions and hairstyles, and so her "disguise" hadn't actually taken much effort. Just the shades, and an alias. Back in Hollywood she worked under the name A.J. Daniels, and all of the friends she'd made since then called her A.J. For this little operation, she'd decided to introduce herself to people as "Barb."

This was a purely independent project. Rikki had come to the Sprawl completely on her own. Her agent, family members, friends, everyone, would have insisted that it was too dangerous to do alone, but Rikki couldn't imagine doing it any other way. This was _her_ life to revisit. And anyway, she didn't need any distractions, during her recording. She didn't have time to play tour guide to an agent or relative or whoever. Plus, they'd bring the risk of them accidently calling her by her real name.

For the first night she just recorded the environment, wandering the bar, making sure to briefly touch the surface of every table, stool, bar counter. Sat near interesting conversations, surveyed the crowd. Let her eyes sit on interesting hairdos, decorations in the bar, people providing perfect examples of under-the-table deals. She eventually began to converse with people, acting like she was just another bar patron in need of an after-work-drink. Worming information out of people: who was still in the biz, who was still around. What names, gangs and technologies had changed since she'd left.

"And how 'bout that Bobby Quine?" she'd asked casually, sipping her drink. "He still come around here?"

"Quine?" The pimp she was talking to looked mildly amused under his pinstriped fedora. "Shit, Quine's here every other week. Probably be around this weekend. Hasn't had to work for a living since he burned Chrome, but he still needs to impress, y'know?"

Rikki nodded, all too knowingly. "Oh yeah. Yeah, I know Quinn. Well, knew him. Briefly."

The pimp took a long drag from his cigar. "That Quine, he got a way with women. And not a good way."

So that weekend Rikki made sure to stop by the bar again. The days in between, she just walked around town, recording old parts of the city she'd frequented when she'd lived there. Now she was strolling through the crowded bar once again, sipping a club soda, black raincoat fully buttoned and shades down. Plenty of people wore sunglasses indoors and dressed like undertakers, so wasn't like she was gonna stand out much. Bobby on the other hand, from what she'd been told, was making a _point_ to stand out these days.

But then, so did half the people in this bar, it seemed. Interspaced between the typical businessmen, working civilian, and low-profile hustler, was a melting pot of aliens, sporting clothing and hairdos and body modifications of the latest outrageous trends. She began to lose herself in the sea of oddly sculpted hair and crazy makeup, starting to relax, forget about recording…

"Chrome, that was cake. The real bitch was keeping the money outta' sight from the Feds."

Rikki's head turned sharply at the sound of his voice.

There, at the table against the wall. Scrawny, dark-haired Bobby Quine, legendary consol jokey, and Rikki's ex boyfriend. The man who's heart she broke, or thought she'd broken. But he didn't seem broken now, far from it. Sharp new fashion, slick trapezoid sunglasses with mirrored lenses. Leaning back against the booth, with his arm draped around a similarly dressed woman. He bragged before a group of consol cowboys, who all looked like they'd gotten sick of this story a dozen retellings ago. Only his girlfriend seemed moderately impressed, and even then only humorously. Her bloodred lips smiled at his story, with the affection of one accepting a squiggly drawing from a small child.

Rikki had never been a shy girl, and wasn't about to start. She coolly wove her way through the crowd, and leaned over, forearms crossed over the table. "Sounds like some story."

Bobby gave her a passing glance. If his girl was offering any reaction, it was hidden behind those mirrored glasses. Up close, Rikki realized that, unlike hers and Bobby's, this girl's lenses had no frames, no handles. They were somehow fused over her eye-sockets, just rising up from her pale cheekbones. Choppy black hair framed her white face. Most of the rest of her was covered by a dark bulky jacket. Burgundy nails drummed the table impatiently. They looked artificial.

"Bobby," the girl said flatly, "You gonna introduce us to your friend?"

"Uh," Bobby's stared at Rikki behind his shades. "I was waiting for _her_ to do the introducing, seeing as I never seen this girl before."

Rikki almost swiped her shades right off. Her disguise couldn't have been that good; anyone who'd genuinely cared about her would probably have recognized her. She'd played dress-up all the time growing up, and rarely fooled any of her friends or family. But even when dating Bobby, she'd gotten the sense that he wasn't that truly invested in her. He'd seemed more in love with _loving_ her, than with Rikki herself. She figured she knew why his current girlfriend was reacting so hostilely to her presence.

"Name's Barb." She nodded to the girl with the implanted lenses. "Relax Mirrorshades, I'm not looking for a taken man. I was just wondering if he knew anyone who might be selling wiz, and maybe if one of these _untaken_ gents wouldn't mind buying a girl a drink."

"I got the wiz," said a black guy with white blonde hair, sitting across from Bobby. "But I also got a woman and three kids. Gonna have to find someone else 'buy you that drink."

Next to him, a lanky white guy ran his hand through two of three thin Mohawks running along his scalp. "I'm shit broke, babe."

The third guy simply shrugged bashfully.

"That a yes?" Rikki asked.

"If it's cheap."

"Cripes, never mind."

Rikki pulled over a chair, had a seat at their table.

"You want the wiz now," the black guy asked, "Or later?"

"Later. Right now, I think this guy's story's gonna be enough of a high."

"'This guy?'" Mirrorshades shifted, rested her arm on the back of her seat, and thumbed to her boyfriend. "You don't know who this jockey is?"

Bobby removed his shades, and furrowed his brow mockingly at Rikki.

Rikki scrunched up her lips, shrugged. "I'm new around here."

"Bobby Quine?" Bobby pressed. "The guy who burned Chrome? Made a fortune in a night?"

His girlfriend added dryly, "And comes back to the same old creep joints to brag about it, 'cause traveling's for losers."

"For god's sake Mol, we'll go to Europe." It sounded like they had been debating this for a while. "After our next score, I'm taking you to Italy, Molly baby."

"After our next score," Molly muttered. "And the next, and the next…"

"How do those work?" Rikki gestured with her soda to Molly's lenses.

"You never seen a graft job before?" the jockey with the three Mohawks asked.

Rikki shook her head.

The blonde black guy gave her a brief history lesson. "Started as a fringe fashion statement in Russia. Caught on in other places when people started including features like night vision and digital clocks."

"But how come they gotta be fused on? Don't you never wanna take your glasses off? How do you wipe your eyes if they itch? How do you cry?"

"I don't cry, I spit," Molly picked up her drink, a can of Budlight. "Atmosphere inside's controlled, so my eyes never get itchy or gooey. Don't need to take them off cuz it's nobody's fucking business what my eyes look like. How 'bout you New Girl, you hiding anything under those shades?" she sipped her beer.

Rikki's blood ran cold. Thinking quickly, she improvised, "I'm a runaway." Swallowed. "Don't want my parents to find me."

"Wait, how old are you?" Mohawk cocked his head at her.

Shit, didn't think that through. But maybe she could work with it. "Too old to still be living at home, letting Mom and Dad boss me around. So I take off, and I want to lie low until they get the idea I'm not coming back, end of story, okay?"

Everyone seemed to buy that story. Actually, it was a damn good story. Would make a good beginning to a simstim adventure, or even just a vid.

"Speaking of stories," Rikki turned back to Bobby. "I want to hear yours. What happened, night you 'burned Chrome?' What's that even mean anyway, 'burning chrome?'"

Bobby was all too glad to give her a retelling of the night he and Automatic Jack hacked Chrome's estate, embellishing on a few details, and leaving others out. Like Rikki. Entirely. It was as if she had never existed.

"So I scored big, and I invested. Automatic Jack, he's out in the 'burbs. Still fixing shit. Got money enough to retire, but insists on keeping up his repairman career."

Rikki was ready to make a point about some people loving their careers more than money, but thought better of it. Molly's silver lenses seemed glued to Rikki. Rikki couldn't be sure, but she got the sense the woman's eyes had flicked to her, noticing her subtle movement when she'd almost spoken a second ago.

"Me," Bobby shifted in the booth, "I'm keeping business steady. Invested, own a bit of a business myself. Rich enough to hire the best." He squeezed Molly against him.

Rikki raised her soda for another sip. "The best…?"

"Street samurai." Molly said. "Body guard. Razor girl. Anyone wanna fuck with my Bobby they fuck with me. And anyone fucks with me…"

Her pale fingers spread on the table. Blue steel blades slid out from under the burgundy nails. Molly didn't smile, but her black eyebrows bobbed humorously.

Rikki's chest froze again, and not just from the claws. She got the feeling that the first "fuck" in Molly's sentence might have been very literal. It gave new meaning to the phrase "this cat has claws."

And then, when the fear past, a bit of disgust at Bobby, dating his bodyguard. Okay, props to a guy who could set aside sexist stereotypes about chivalry to hire a female bodyguard; but one who you're _dating_? No person of either gender should expect their significant other to be their personal human shield. That was wrong on so many levels. And Molly knew it. Rikki had sensed the woman's romantic suspicion; if she cared enough to worry about another woman showing up, then Molly had to know, if only in the back of her mind, how unfair and one-sided her relationship with Bobby was.

"These babies cut through anything." Molly said, as if assuming that it was her claws Rikki had been silently thinking about for the last thirty seconds. "Wood, metal, bone, flesh, plastic."

At the last word, Molly's pinky flew up across the table, blade fully out, and brushed over the bridge of Rikki's nose. Rikki was frozen in a cringe, as the bridge of her sunglasses gave way, the two lenses limply falling in opposite directions. Rikki grabbed the two halves of her glasses, but not before her eyes were revealed.

"Where'd you buy those eyes?" the man with the Mohawk asked.

"Stim brand, I'd say," Molly said flatly.

And then Rikki was running, tearing out of the bar.

She reached the doorway, and suddenly, somehow, Molly was there, just waiting for her. No way, not even with sped up reflexes…was she really that fast? Rikki stopped in her tracks for confusion as much as fear.

The claws extended to Rikki's throat, just barely touching the skin. Rikki heard a gun click behind her. Half the bar was watching now. Conversations continued—scenes like this weren't too unusual for the Gentleman Loser—but people were staring, or glancing over during their conversations and orders at the bar. The bartender kept looking up from the mug she was filling.

Rikki's eyes moved back to Molly. She saw her blue Ikons, wide with fear, reflected in Molly's mirrored lenses.

From behind, Bobby said, "I think maybe you come with us now." And Rikki realized it was Bobby holding the gun to the back of her head.

Molly corrected, "I think maybe I remove those Ikons now."

Rikki's Ikon-blue eyes remained frozen wide in Molly's twin mirrors.

"Not yet, Mol." Bobby said. "First we get all the facts. Let's get the Finn 'come take a look at her."

Molly's jaw clenched.

* * *

 **A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but got too long. I'll be posting it in three parts. It's completely written out, and** _ **will**_ **be a relatively short read.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I feel it's worth mentioning that Molly, despite her obviously aloof and spiteful attitude, isn't quite as antisocial as a lot of descriptions online make her out to be. In "Johnny Mneumonic," "Neuromancer" and "Mona Lisa Overdrive," she's perfectly capable of friendships and casual chit-chat. She just seems rather choosy about who she does this with. Basically, the Internet seems to Flanderlize her a lot. I'm trying to keep her closer to how she appeared and acted in the books.**

 **These characters and setting belong to William Gibson. This is just speculation and good fun.**

* * *

Taped to a plastic folding chair.

Dimly lit room, only light coming from an old bulb in the ceiling.

No windows were opened, but Rikki could tell from the sounds that they were many stories up. The whole room had a rickety feel, like some tacked-on addition to a skyscraper. Sometime, when apartments or offices or whatever ran out of space, they'd turn balconies into new rooms, by just adding walls of metal or plastic. That's what this looked like. Three sides of the room were lined with a metal railing, welded at intervals to the thin metal walls tacked on. The fourth wall was old brick, with a glass sliding door painted black for privacy. A sheet of plastic served as a roof, and Rikki was grateful for how weak and flimsy it looked, because she was pretty sure it was getting ready to either fall in on them or be blown away by the wind and into the face of some poor bystander somewhere else in the city.

In the cramped room with her were Bobby, Molly, and a creep called the Finn. The Finn was no spring chicken, and beyond that Rikki couldn't tell a thing about his age. He had a tiny rodent-like build, and a face like a gopher. Features that maybe made him cute back when he was young, which might've been before Rikki had been born, but now didn't do much to help his yellow crumbling teeth and bloodshot eyes. He was running a scanning-gun up and down Rikki's body, and it was all she could do not to visibly cringe at his presence. She was choking on the cigar stench wafting off of him.

Bobby wrinkled his nose at her over folded arms. "You get off on betraying people, Rikki?"

It was the first time she'd heard her real name in weeks. She'd have matched Bobby's crossed arms, if her own weren't duct-taped to the chair. "So you remember me, Bobby?"

"Yeah, I remember. I remember how you dated me, while working for the bitch I was gonna burn. Not a lot of company loyalty in you either, I guess."

"You're mad I went behind Chrome's back to date you?"

"Not just me. I know about you and Jack…"

"Hey," the Finn grunted, now scanning Rikki's spine. "She came here to record a documentary, not a soap opera."

"My ass," Molly snapped. "No stimmer'd be dumb enough to do what she's been telling us she's tryin' to do. She's gotta be working for someone. Yakuza, the Mob, the Feds…"

"She ain't." the Finn growled, still scanning. "It's a regular recording job. No one riding her, no one ready to receive any transmission. For all intended purposes she's recording this shit for herself. Christ, you haul me out of my burrow to come all the way here to look at a fucking stim-setup? You remember I told you over the phone, how much I charge for house-calls?"

"Don't mind the Finn, he's an agoraphobic." Molly apologized, seemingly as much for Rikki's benefit as Bobby's.

"With reason." The Finn retorted. "Why I'm still alive. Your friend here could learn a thing or two from me. I got no idea what she thought she was doing, recording in the Gentleman Loser."

"I was gonna edit it," Rikki defended. "No one woulda' ever known who any of you were."

"Bullshit." Molly spit on the floor. "Yakuza can track people down just going off their train tickets. You think publishing a stim with an 'anonymous' consol cowboy who burned the House of Blue Lights, and a razor girl with these exact augmentations, not gonna tip anybody off?"

"What're the odds your enemies even watch the damn thing?" Rikki exclaimed. "Or hear about it? I'm not Tally Isham. This vid would have a following of maybe twenty people worldwide, tops."

"A lot better than the odds of you leaving this shithole alive," Molly snarled. "Only reason I don't cut your pretty throat right now's on account of your close personal relationship with Bobby here."

"Me n' her are history, Mol. Or will be, after this gig."

"What gig." Molly didn't even look at him, still seething at Rikki.

"Ransom." Bobby sounded proud of himself, for having thought up the idea. "She's a star now, right? We take her hostage, demand a few thousand…"

Molly's face contorted around her silver lenses. "You're already rich, asshole."

"I'm not just rich, I'm a _businessman_. Gotta expand. This is a real sweet find, a serendipity. I knew you were my good-luck charm Mol."

 _Good luck charm._ What Bobby had called Rikki, back when they were together. His "luck." Rikki shouldn't have been surprised, she realized, that he referred to every girl he dated this way. Still, the revelation burned her. Burned her good.

Now Molly turned to face her partner. "Bobby, you're startin' to sound as dumb as your ex. You want we should have the Feds on our asses? Our pictures all over the news? Kidnapping this girl for ransom's the surest way to see that recording gets published!"

"They're not gonna catch us…!"

The Finn emitted a long groan, dropping his head down onto the back of Rikki's chair. While Molly and Bobby argued, the old fence rubbed his face and grumbled, "the fuck I get myself into?"

Rikki sighed. "Join the club."

"Get me the phone." Bobby ordered Molly.

The razorgirl stared at him, as if carefully considering her next response. Then spat, "Fine."

Molly turned and began rummaging through a pile of electronics in one corner, where the brick wall met one of the thin metal add-ons. Bobby watched her a few seconds, then turned back to Rikki.

"See Rikki babe, you're not the only one's 'driven.' I got my dreams, just like you got yours. Only difference is, I know how to plan, and make the right connections."

Behind him, Molly finally retrieved the portable phone, and hurled it into the base of Bobby's skull.

* * *

"Bullshit," Molly said, as she and the Finn dragged a confused Rikki down the crowded street. "Fucking pure and utter bullshit." She raised one hand, waving down a cab. "Well I'm through with that moron. Fucking through."

The sky was just finishing up sunset, still a hint of blue behind the stars. Rikki had entered the Gentleman Loser around four. So much had happened, in just a few hours. A cab finally slowed to a stop in front of the trio. It was one of those automated ones, that just drove itself. Rikki was always unsure about riding in a car without a driver, but in this particular situation, maybe it was best to have a vehicle where they didn't have to worry about a cabby eavesdropping on them. Unless these cabs recorded their passengers…

"Where're we going?" Rikki asked, as she was squashed into the back seat between Molly and the Finn. "Is Bobby gonna come after us?"

"Doubt it." Molly said. "Probably awake by now though. Might have brain damage if he's out much longer than that. Not that you'd be able to tell."

Rikki was silent for a long time. She only, finally, felt the need to speak when she realized what direction the cab was headed. "Are we going to New York?"

"First smart thing you've said all day." Molly sighed dryly. "We're going to the Big Apple, yeah. Figure I'll give Finn a ride home, after hauling him out here for dick."

Rikki frowned in puzzlement, before remembering that "dick" was sometimes jockey talk for "nothing."

"And then?" Rikki asked.

"And then I'm taking you home. To California. Personally, gonna walk you home like a gentleman. And I'm gonna make sure Finn deletes that recording of yours, as much for your own benefit as mine."

Rikki swallowed and nodded.

* * *

The three of them hung out at the Finn's place until morning. Molly made coffee while the Finn hooked Rikki up to a deck, preparing to wipe her recording. Rikki was no consol cowboy, but she knew how to use a computer. If she could just get her fingers on that keyboard for sixty seconds, mail that stim recording to herself, open the copy up later when she was safe at home…but did she even want to save this docu, anymore?

Finn's back turned when Molly offered him coffee, but Molly kept her lenses trained on Rikki. Once again she saw her Ikons reflected in those mirrors. Rikki didn't move. Rikki wanted to look at the computer but didn't allow herself.

"So," Molly said, casually handing Rikki a mug of coffee, "you an' Automatic Jack. Serves him right. Bobby I mean."

Rikki swallowed. "I never cheated on a boyfriend before. But was driving me crazy, Bobby not paying any attention. I mean he acted like he was so in love with me, but he never actually listened when I said anything, he was never there when I wanted to spend time together or needed help. Jack on the other hand…"

"He's around here, in New York," Molly offered. "Suburbs. Could say hi."

Rikki shook her head. "Don't wanna. Why, does he wanna see me?"

Molly shrugged. "If he does, he never said anything. I don't know, I mean, I'd like to help you out. But I don't know if this is some deep romantic history, or just one of those awkward meetings best left in the past."

"Far as I'm concerned it's the first one. Fact, that's how I'm startin' to feel about the Sprawl altogether. Dunno what I was thinking, coming back here."

Don't look at the computer…

Shit, if only she could shake Molly off. The Finn was busy rigging the computer up. Molly was the watchdog. Watchdog nothing, more like the dragon.

Then Rikki got an idea. It was beyond tasteless, probably downright cruel. But it would shake Molly up, for sure.

"I worked in a Puppet Parlor."

Molly's pose changed. Behind the lenses, it was impossible to see her eyes, but Rikki didn't have to.

The discomfort with which Rikki spoke was no act. "I really wanted these eyes. To get into the stim world. How you pay for your eyes, Molly?"

Molly's burgundy nails drummed on folded arms. "You pissed I interrupted your little documentary, kid?"

"No. I'm just psyched I'm not the only one with an embarrassing history with the Blue Lights and Bobby Quine."

"I wasn't at Blue Lights. I was here in New York." She spit on the floor.

The Finn turned and glanced at the saliva on his concrete floor. "Jesus Mol, I let you in my house, show a little courtesy, huh?"

Molly jerked her head at Rikki. "How long's that gonna take?"

"These stims take fucking forever to delete. First you gotta upload 'em from outta' her brain, which takes about half an hour, and then decompile the thing, which takes about as long."

Rikki still wasn't sure if she wanted to save this recording. But then suddenly, neither Molly nor the Finn was looking at her.

Fuck it, she could always delete it later.

* * *

They were leaving the Finn's house, back on the street. Molly turning up the collar of her black jacket. Rikki letting her raincoat fly open, now flashing her bright Ikon eyes for all to see. No one much seemed to notice. Unless they were up close, no one could see the logo on the irises, and people would probably just assume Rikki had augmented her eyes a bright blue for fashion's sake.

"I don't wanna go back to California," Rikki decided. "Not right away."

"Probably shouldn't anyway," Molly agreed. "Your enemies'd trace you right back there. Where else'd you have in mind?"

"Somewhere in the middle of the country. Rural. Good place to lie low, maybe do some kinda' outdoorsy documentary. That'd make better money anyway. The public's sick of hearing bad news."

They took a tube to New Jersey, even though it wasn't in the right direction; Molly insisted on an indirect route, in case someone was tracking them. During the ride, Rikki got the sense Molly was scanning the car behind those silver lenses. Rikki's Ikons were hidden again, behind cheap plastic shades bought from a convenience store. Soon as they stepped off, Molly urged Rikki sharply around the street corner.

"We got a fucking tail. Shit."

"How do you know?" Rikki whispered, hurrying to match Molly's quick pace.

At first, Molly didn't answer.

"Molly?"

"Same four assholes," Molly replied in a low voice. "Been with us since the Finn's pad."

"Maybe they're just—"

"Shut up. I gotta think."

Molly took Rikki through a three-dimensional maze in the city, around corners, across streets, up steps, down ladders, across catwalks, until they were several stories above the ground. Molly seemed to have some idea where she was going. Every once in a while she'd seem to relax, as if thinking they'd finally lost their tail, only to tense back up and urge Rikki in another random direction.

After over an hour of this bullshit Molly stopped abruptly, and Rikki almost ran right into her. They were on a catwalk-like balcony, wrapped around a relatively short skyscraper. A few feet down was a short door, labeled "Employees Only." Molly hurried forward, and Rikki reluctantly followed. Molly leaned over the door's key panel, examining it, maybe with the X-ray vision or whatever the hell those mirror lenses were equipped with. She keyed a combo into the panel, and the door popped on. Molly slipped inside and Rikki followed her, into a tight hallway lined with plastic red stalls.

Like so much of the Sprawl, this room had been crudely reworked. Apparently they were standing in what had been built to be a wide room, probably an office building; sometime in the last few decades, someone had separated it into stalls, with slabs of cheap red plastic. Rikki wouldn't call this an ideal hiding spot, giving that someone could probably slash right through those walls with a basic knife or laser. And on top of that, this place was reminding Rikki of something she didn't want to be reminded of. The line of sealed stall doors, the perfect silence, the discreet location of the place…

When a businessman exited one stall, looking as exhausted as he was overjoyed, Rikki's fears were confirmed.

" _Molly_ ," Rikki hissed, "this is a—"

"I know. Last place they'll look for us, right?"

Molly gently felt for an unlocked door, found one and urged Rikki inside, then locked it shut behind them. The lock, at least, was a modern key panel; Rikki half expected one of those cheap old metal slide-locks. Then again, with these flimsy walls, they'd need some kind of modern technological trick, to mute the sound from each stall. Otherwise, she and Molly would be hearing a caterwauling chorus of orgasms and love calls.

Even knowing the place was soundproof, Rikki felt the need to whisper. "Now what?"

Molly didn't whisper, but kept her voice low. "Now we kill two, maybe three hours, till our tail's gone."

"Unless they saw us and they're waiting—"

"Then I'll be ready for 'em."

Nothing to do. And surrounded by bad memories. Rikki took off her plastic shades and cleaned them on her cotton shirt, then tucked them into a front pocket. She decided to chance leaning against the red plastic wall, worried the whole thing would cave under her weight, but was relieved to find it firmly attached to the ceiling and floor. Rikki hugged herself, staring down at Molly's red cowboy boots. Rikki had owned a pair of boots kind of like that, back when she'd lived here, steel-toes and everything. Cowboy stuff was popular, out here in the Sprawl.

Molly was rummaging through the pocket of her leather jacket. "Used to sit here and think," she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Between tricks. Hated this place, but kinda liked it. It was peaceful, when no one else was around."

She lit herself a joint, then made an offering gesture at Rikki with the pack. Rikki shook her head.

"I never liked it." Rikki said. "Working in a puppet parlor, I mean. I was desperate's all. I _wanted_ these eyes, bad."

"Yeah?" Molly fanned her fingers, blades poking out. "I wanted these. And my lenses."

"Why?"

Molly had to think it over a second. She shrugged. "Street samurai. Wanted to tussle. Back then _every_ muscle-for-hire serious about their job was getting augmented, so that wasn't even a question. It was just a matter of which ones to get. I was a kid, people used to make fun of me for scratching people with my nails during fights. I couldn't never break the habit, so I figured what the hell, if you can't beat it, upgrade it."

"And the lenses? Who you wanna hide your eyes from, Molly?"

Molly took an even longer time to answer. "I seen 'em on a few people. D.J., when I was a teenager. Couple rent-a-cops arrested me when I was older. Really stops people in their tracks, having non-human eyes. Your opponent's can't see if they're getting to you. Good for a street samurai."

"But you can't never take 'em off?"

"Don't got anyone I wanna take 'em off for."

Rikki made a sound through her teeth. "Introverts. I never understood you types. I can't _live_ without people. Why I gotta be a stim-star."

"I can't stand people. Why I need these claws."

Then came a silence, not an awkward one even, but just a silence, where they each respected the other's need to be someplace else. Rikki wondered if Molly was telling the whole truth, about her reasons for the lenses. Probably not. Probably something had happened, something she was ashamed of. Like how people who didn't want to be noticed put on sunglasses, for a disguise.

Molly suddenly straightened, like a dog or cat reacting to a subtle noise. But wasn't this place soundproof?

"Mo—?"

" _Shh!_ Get down."

Rikki lowered herself into a crouch, while Molly drew a tiny gun from her leather jacket. Then with one cowboy-booted foot, the razorgirl gave Rikki's back a shove. " _Down!_ " Rikki pressed herself to the ground like she was in army school.

Now she could hear the clicks, someone hacking at the door, getting it opened. So that was what Molly had heard, seconds before, a click in the wall panel. Was Molly's hearing jacked up too, or was Rikki just a dunce?

The second the door was opened Molly fired, but at that same moment, a metal arm shot between the door and the wall and cupped over her gun, crushing it like Styrofoam. Now having a hold of Molly's hand, the metal arm swung Molly against the wall. Obviously, Molly wasn't the only one at this party with an augmented body.

Clenching her teeth, Molly readied her free hand, but didn't unsheathe her claws just yet. She placed one booted foot on the door, fighting against the thugs trying to break in. Rikki rolled over and planted both booted feet against the door, even knowing her own mediocre strength was probably useless in this situation.

"Relax bitch," a male voice, the owner of the cyborg hand, said. "Boss Man wants you alive."

"Look me in the eye and tell me that." Molly snapped.

The cyborg gave a laugh, like he was play-bargaining with a disobedient child who didn't want to go to bed, and moved his face into view. His eyes looked surprisingly human, hazel under thick brown eyebrows. "My boss, wants you, ali—"

Molly's free hand flew forward, claws extended to their full length, and the thug fell back screaming, his robotic grip loosening from Molly's hand. Molly kicked the door shut and yanked a tool from her pocket: a cheap laser pen, normally used by repairmen and scrap artists. She activated its short red beam, and used it to fuse the door shut in one spot.

A new voice, raspy and female, yelled through the fused door, " _We got guns trained on both your asses…!_ "

As their attacker spoke, Molly moved to the other red plastic wall, her claws still out. They glistened with bright red blood, and some other fluid Rikki didn't want to know the origin of. Molly moved all of her clawed fingers downward except the index, and used it to carve a hole in the wall, just big enough for her and Rikki to duck through. The Chiba steel blade cut through the plastic like cheese. Molly was careful to pull the chunk of cutaway plastic out as quietly as possible, while the woman outside rambled on, demanding their surrender. Molly gently set the slab of plastic down on the floor, shoved Rikki through the hole, then followed her in. This stall was empty, thankfully. Molly carved another hole, a bit more hastily than the first, and they stepped into a stall where a fat businessman was ramming a "puppet," a hypnotized whore who rented her body to her customers while her mind took a vacation. The customer halted his work to stare up at the two intruders. His face paled at the sight of Molly's bloodstained claws.

"Pardon us, Boss," Molly said, without even looking at him.

She quickly cut another hole in the wall, then turned and flashed her bloody claws at him. "You tell anyone you saw us, I'll kill you."

She and Rikki hurried into the next stall, where a middle aged man was enjoying a young male puppet.

"You hear what I told the last guy?" Molly threatened.

The customer continued his business, as if he barely noticed them. "Yep."

He offered a sarcastic wave, giving them no more acknowledgement than Molly had given the last customer. Rikki figured this guy was either high as a kite, or just trying really, really hard to contain his fear under a guise of indifference.

They went through god knew how many more stalls, passing god knew how many perverted men and even a few women, some in pairs, all blissfully fucking unconscious human beings like they were inflatable love dolls, until Molly and Rikki interrupted them. Rikki wasn't sure how much longer they could keep this up, before the thugs back at the first stall figured out where they'd gone. And eventually she said so.

Molly replied, "I'm gonna take us to the end of the hallway, then we'll slip around the corner. I'm just not sure how much farther down we gotta go. Kinda doing some guess work here."

"Wait a sec," Rikki said.

They were in an empty stall now. Through the last hole they'd created, a customer in the previous stall (a teenager with a lime green Mohawk) gave them a curious look. Molly flashed her claws at him threateningly, and he quickly ducked away.

"What're you doing?" Molly asked Rikki quietly.

"Hang on," Rikki's eyelids dropped, as she began replaying a memory, and not a natural one. "Two more stalls," she said finally. "There're twelve stalls in this hall, we started in stall number three, and now we're in number ten."

Molly was silent for a moment. "Alright. Let's get going."

They made it through the next two stalls, both of which were empty, and then Molly cut the last hole. They stepped back into a hall, forking off of the previous one. The hit men chasing them wouldn't even see, from where they currently were. Molly and Rikki hurried down the hall, around another corner, and onward, until they found another door. Then they were back on the outside balcony, breaking into a full run.

Without looking at Rikki, Molly said flatly, "You're still recording."

"Gotta watch our asses, don't we?" Rikki defended.

"Yeah," Molly agreed weakly. "Once I get you out of here, before we part ways, you dump this footage for good. Or I take your eyes out like I did that punk back there."

Rikki nodded quickly. "Yeah. Totally."

Onto a long catwalk, that attached this skyscraper to a partner across the street. They were at least ten stories up. Rikki never had to abide by the old "don't look down" rule, as heights didn't really bother her. And right now, the height was much less frightening than the street samurai leading her across the catwalk.

They were halfway down the ramp when a figure appeared on the other side, with a handgun trained on them. Big black guy, shaved head, eyes modified to mimic a snake's. His clothing suggested a typical street gangster, not associated with any particular subculture that Rikki was aware of, other than "punk."

" _Shhhhit_ ," Molly hissed, sounding more irritated than anything else.

"I think we got you broads outnumbered," the man said.

"Outnumbered _and_ out-augmented."

It was the cyborg who spoke now, coming from the other side of the catwalk. Blood flowed from his eye sockets and cuts around his face, that he barely seemed to notice. The way his lip was twitching, Rikki guessed he'd swallowed some crystals for the pain. He was shirtless, allowing Rikki and Molly a full view of his jacked-up muscles and two robotic arms, cased in translucent blue plastic. Next to him was the female gunner, a middle-aged woman in a cargo coverall, head shaved except for a burgundy-dyed ponytail jetting out the base of her skull. Back on the other side, the black guy was joined by a white gangster who looked barely out of his teens, face covered in piercings. Molly having lost her gun, and Rikki having come to the Sprawl unarmed, the two women could only watch as the four gangsters closed in on them.

The cyborg took a hold of Molly, seizing her by the shoulders. She didn't fight back, and if she was giving him any defiant look, it was masked by her shades. And he wouldn't see it anyway, given his current situation. Rikki had no idea how he could even find his way to Molly, with his eyes gouged like that. Obviously there was more "cyborg" about him than just his arms.

The woman with the ponytail seized Rikki by the throat with one hand, gripping her small gun in the other. The woman's fingers were like iron, and Rikki decided that her muscles or bones or both had been altered beyond human durability. The other two thugs just lingered back, guns ready.

"Alright, we're game," Molly surrendered casually. "What do you want?"

The cyborg answered, "Our boss wants the spy, so he can ask her a few questions. You, he just wants to offer a job. You two come quietly, my boss'll buy me some new eyes, and you'll get paid double than what you are now for the exact same work. Works for both of us."

"I ain't interested, and the only questions my friend here can answer for you is probably celebrity trivia."

"My ass," the woman holding Rikki snapped, then glared into Rikki's eyes. "I wanna know what you recorded back at the Gentleman Loser. And who you're working for."

"No one!" Rikki blurted out. "I'm just a dumbass making a documentary. I already lost all my footage, she made sure'a that!" she jerked her head in Molly's direction.

"Alright, let's try it this way." The woman shoved Rikki backwards, half over the railing.

Rikki hung upside-down, the woman's hand crushing her windpipe, gun pressed into the base of her ribcage. Staring at ten stories worth of windows and the distant street below, Rikki could no longer pride herself in not being afraid of heights.

"Tell me one more time," the woman's voice rang surreal, in Rikki's ringing ears, "who're you working for?"

"Hey," Molly snapped. "She'll answer all your questions, if you answer mine first."

The only part of her body Rikki could currently move was her eyes, and she did, finding Molly in a similar position. Pinned against the railing, with Cyborg Man's two hands clamped over her throat. Molly's own arms gripped the railing behind her, straining to keep herself balanced.

"Yeah?" the cyborg asked Molly dryly. "What you wanna know, Leather-ass?"

"Just one question's all I got for you, Boss," Molly said. "You ticklish?"

And she jammed both hands up into his armpits, where the robotic arms met the flesh. Rikki didn't have to see his bloodied face cringe to know that Molly's claws were up there, severing wires and tendons. Nor did she need to see the blood beginning to drip from his armpits, onto the catwalk. Molly didn't take her fingers out of him; instead, she yanked him close, using him as a human shield, against the two men who were now shooting at her.

The woman holding Rikki yanked her back up onto the catwalk, so fast Rikki's head hurt and she didn't know up from down for a few seconds. But feeling the gun pressed to her temple, she knew she was now a hostage.

"Let him go bitch!" the woman holding Rikki ordered.

"You got it."

Molly finally retracted her claws, and shoved the injured cyborg into the two other men, knocking all three of them over the edge of the catwalk. And then, so fast Rikki couldn't even see, Molly was behind Rikki and her captor, and slashing the wrist that held the gun to Rikki's head. The gun went off in the air, making Rikki's heart stop. Next thing she knew, both Rikki and the gangster were on the catwalk's floor, Rikki panting on her side, the woman lying on her back with Molly's steel toe on her chest. Molly was holding the female gangster's gun.

"My turn," Molly took aim at the woman's face. "Who sent you?"

The woman's mouth slowly opened, and Rikki anticipated the answer, even knowing that the name would probably mean nothing to a civilian like herself. But instead of speaking, the woman suddenly clamped her mouth shut, teeth crashing painfully against each other.

"No!" Molly quickly lowered to a kneel, and pried the woman's mouth opened. "Oh _fuck_ no, awe…" She tossed the gun to the floor in disgust.

Mint-blue foam was erupting from the woman's lips, as her face and body went slack. Suicide-tooth. Oldest trick in the book. Rikki didn't even know those were a real thing, she'd always just thought it was a cheesy cliché used by lazy writers.

"Fucking blow me," Molly retrieved the gun, stood back up and gave the woman's body an angry kick. "Fuck it, we gotta get outta' here before rent-a-cops show up."

And then it was back through the city maze, trying to shake off any possible tails, just like before. They found their way into a shopping center, got into an uninhabited elevator on the edge of the building, with a glass wall that offered a nice view of the city. Rikki lost herself in the streaks of neon as they coasted down to ground level. And their faces, Molly's gleaming mirrors and Rikki's blue electric blue irises, soaring down through the night.

"Why didn't you take their offer?" Rikki asked.

Molly's face was unmoving in the glass reflection. "You dusted, or just plain stupid? What'd you think that muscle meant when he said the boss wanted to 'ask you questions?'"

"That was _me_ though. You he just wanted to offer a job. Why'd you toss that offer over a catwalk, just to save me from getting interrogated?"

Molly's face remained still, speeding through the neon rapids. She didn't respond.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own the Sprawl series.**

* * *

It took almost the entire night for Molly to be satisfied that they weren't being followed anymore. Then they grabbed an early breakfast (or late dinner) at a café in Pennsylvania, on the very edge of the Sprawl, and hopped aboard a tube. They continued taking tubes, getting as far as they could from the East Coast, until they were rural enough that there weren't any more tubes to take. Then Molly rented a car. Cheap old model, non-hover, with tires and a steering wheel and everything.

"Never much been out in the outdoors," Molly mused, driving through the fields of Pennsylvania. "Wonder how close this looks to how it did, before the War."

"There were more trees, I think," Rikki replied. "But it's re-grown pretty nice. My dad used to take me and my brother camping, sometimes."

"Always wondered what they looked like, real animals. I mean besides dogs, cats, rats. I mean real _animal_ animals: tigers, horses, dolphins. You used to see a lot more animal augmentations, five, ten years back. Dog teeth, snake eyes, I even knew a dolphin once. I mean a fellow'd had himself cut up to live underwater like a dolphin. Navy." She shook her head with a feint smile, as if reminiscing on some nostalgic memory, ignoring the disgust in Rikki's blue eyes. "God, we had no class back then. You old enough to remember that decade, Rikki?"

"Sure, I'm the same age as you about. I guess I just didn't see it from all angles."

They talked on. Talked about where they'd grown up. About past jobs. Past boyfriends. Molly revealed she had a thing for computer jockeys.

"My boyfriend before him was killed, 'bout six months ago. Yakuza. Not gonna go into that." Her mouth moved like she was gonna spit again, but she swallowed it. "I was vulnerable when I took it up with Bobby. Otherwise I'd've seen from the get-go what a prick he is. I outta' thank you for turning up as quick as you did." Rikki wanted to say something, but Molly talked on, "I did a lotta dumb shit when I was young. I mean _really_ dumb shit. Figure if I'm allowed to whore out at a puppet parlor, take up with Quine, piss off Yakuza and still be alive at this age, no reason you shouldn't either."

"I think you're even more driven than me," Rikki complimented.

They were coming up at a fork in the road. A ways down the path that crossed theirs was a large truck. It looked like a typical delivery vehicle, probably transporting cars or sodas or computer decks for some company, and Rikki gave it no thought. Neither did Molly.

Molly moved her face in something approximating a smile. "Yeah. Guess we both cut people, cut a trail through people, to get where we wanna be. Me in a more literal sense obvi—"

The car swerved, and there was a small explosion right where the car had been seconds earlier. The bang momentarily deafened Rikki. And just when her ears were starting to recover, Molly screamed right into them, " _Shit!_ "

"What's going on?" Rikki cried.

"Fireworks, it's the fucking Forth of July. Someone's trying to kill us, dipshit! Here, take the wheel. Now!"

Rikki obeyed, reaching over to steer, while Molly pulled a gun from her pocket and climbed into the back. Rikki moved into the driver's seat, while Molly took aim from the window and shot. In the rearview mirror, Rikki saw it was that truck chasing them, someone throwing grenades out the passenger's window.

"Subtle," Molly hissed, "Real fucking subtle. Guess these assholes figure if they don't kill us, they can make enough noise get the Feds over here finish the job for them." Her voice raised angrily, "Didn't occur to you that's not in your best interests either, huh?"

The car roared as Rikki shifted into top speed.

"Good news Rikki," Molly yelled between her gunshots, "is our buddies here ain't too bright. It's not the Yak or the Mob. I think I know these morons. No big-shots, just _think_ they are."

Molly's lip curled as she took one last, careful aim, and fired. Then her face fell. "Fucking shit _move, turn, out of here!_ " She dissolved into screams Rikki could hardly decipher, and reached across Rikki to grab the steering wheel.

They swerved off the road, almost tumbling into a ditch. Molly yanked on the emergency break, and Rikki slammed into the steering wheel. The truck roared past, aflame. Molly must've hit a gas tank, or something. Rikki wasn't sure how that worked, shooting a car to set it on fire or blow it up.

"Follow 'em." Molly ordered.

"Wha?"

Molly grabbed the wheel, steered them back on the road. Rikki's hands returned to the wheel and she took the car rest of the way, up to the burning truck.

"Wait in here," Molly said, and got out of the car, gun ready.

Somehow, the driver of the truck was still alive. A woman with spiked hair climbed out and shot at Molly. Molly moved just in time; either her reflexes were so jacked up that she could actually dodge bullets, or else those lenses somehow let her predict where the next bullet would be. Maybe both. Molly dodged another bullet before shooting the spike-haired woman in the head.

Someone else was in the truck, a young man in the passenger's seat. Probably the grenade launcher. He moved into the driver's seat and tried to start up the car, as if he didn't notice or care that the damn thing was on _fire_ , but froze when Molly fired a warning shot through the windshield, hitting the seat just an inch from his head.

"Don't move or you're dead," Molly called across the road.

Rikki's hands tightened around the steering wheel. She was beginning to like Molly, but that didn't mean she liked seeing Molly kill people.

Molly climbed up to the truck, grabbed the young man by the T-shirt, dragged him out of the flaming car. Once safely away from the heat, Molly moved her hand from his back to the back of his neck, burgundy nails poking the flesh.

"Now you're gonna answer my questions," Molly told him, "Or I'm gonna unsheathe my claws."

Pale and sweating, he nodded, blinking tightly, working to stay conscious.

"Who sent you."

"Angel Barry," he said quietly.

"Fucking figures. And who tipped off Angel Barry, where to start tracking us?"

"Quine, Bobby Quine."

"I figured that too. Okay kid, I'm feeling sentimental today, so guess what: you get to live. I guess you don't have a phone on you, but you can't be more than a few days from civilization of some kind, and it's not like you're bleeding to death anyway. Soon as you get to a phone, you make two calls. Call your boss, and tell 'im I killed his men, fair an' square, and he'd be wise not to try going after Molly Millions again. Long as he doesn't, I'll stay outta' his way too. This is all business, nothing personal."

He nodded. "Nothing personal."

"And then, you call that shit Bobby Quine, and first off, you _tell_ him I called him that. And then you tell him I see him again, I'll kill him. Deal?"

He nodded.

She took her hand off his neck. "Good." Smacked his back. "Safe journey."

* * *

Back into the car, Rikki now the driver, Molly relaxing into her seat.

"You really gonna kill Bobby?" Rikki tried to keep her voice casual, hide the nervousness that prompted the question. She agreed, beyond a doubt, that Bobby was a "shit," was pretty sure that she didn't want him dead.

Molly lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Maybe. I dunno. Depends on my mood."

They drove all day. Made one long stop to get some sleep, on the side of the road, then drove on. Took turns at the wheel, only snatching food and bathroom breaks at convenient stores and fast-food joints. A small city in Ohio was where they finally stopped, where Rikki decided she'd be staying, "lying low" as Molly called it, for the next few months.

"It's too bad I can't never use that stim," Rikki said casually, when Molly dropped her off at a motel. "You're a real interesting person Molly. You, the Finn, even Bobby, dickweed that he is."

"Yeah, real interesting." She couldn't tell if Molly was being sarcastic or not. "But we got our own ways of passing history down, in the underground. You wanna maybe catalogue all the legends, go for it. But you publish anything with my image or voice, I'm gonna fucking kill you Rikki. Nothing personal, I actually like you, for some reason. But I _will_ fucking kill you, you don't dump that footage, no lie."

"I got nothing to publish anymore, so I should be good." Just earlier that day, Molly had taken Rikki to another techie, to have her new recording dumped, and the stimming gear in her head messed with so it'd take a trip to a professional to be able to record again. Rikki'd be irrevocably pissed, if she didn't owe Molly her life three or four times over by now. "You ever change your mind Molly, wanna try a proper interview, I'll give you my contact info." Rikki pulled her little wallet from her coat pocket, pulled out a business card, handed it to Molly.

Molly laughed, examining the card. "A dozen-hundred businessmen'll will want me dead if I do that, so let's wait till I'm old and retired, and got nothing to lose. Then you can dig me up."

She was obviously joking, didn't think she'd live that long. But Rikki logged the offer away in her memory, nonetheless…

* * *

…and took Molly up on it a decade and a half later.

Rikki was at a bar in California with her second husband, teenaged son by the first husband, and some friends, celebrating her thirty-ninth birthday. Rikki, now known half the time as "A.J.," had a successful career in independent simstim. She was no household name like Tally or Angie, but she had her name in the credits of plenty of notable stim series and docus, and her fanbase was nothing to sneeze at. A career that was big enough to be proud of, and small enough to leave some wiggle-room for privacy and a family.

And it was at that birthday party at the bar that she caught the news, on the screen behind the counter. Some shit gone down in the Sprawl, connected to some other shit in London, and more shit yet in Japan. Several people involved only partially identified, still on the loose. Lots of contradicting stories. And one in particular that stood out to Rikki:

" _Three witnesses claim to have seen a woman with mirror-lenses insets, two reports in London and one in the Sprawl. All three gave consistent descriptions, however, no such person fits any records anywhere in England or the States. Investigations are still underway…_ "

Rikki tracked Molly down a couple months later, to a hotel in Europe, got a hold of her on the phone. The phone conversation was short.

"This Molly?"

"Who wants to know."

"Rikki Stephenson. Rikki Sterling when we met last. In the Sprawl, 'bout fifteen, sixteen years ago?" When Molly didn't respond, she jogged her memory. "We, uh, met through Bobby Quine?"

"Right," Molly said finally. "Right. Rikki, simstim Rikki." From her tone, it sounded like she was smiling bitterly, barring her teeth. "This about that interview I promised ya?"

"Um, yes."

They set the time and date, and Molly hung up without saying goodbye.

Rikki was truly a tad fearful for her life when she stepped into the hotel. At least she didn't stand out like she used to. Ikon had made several updates in their eyes over the years, and you could now have them tinted to a natural look, like Angie Mitchell had done. Rikki's were back to their original coffee-brown, or at least as close an approximation as she could get. Her hair sat around her aging face in its natural brown curls.

Sound of boot heels, as Molly came to answer the door.

No, that wasn't Molly. She didn't have…

"Your mirrors," was the first thing out of Rikki's mouth.

Molly regarded her with slightly-slanted, hazel-green eyes. They weren't much more expressive than her lens implants; but then again, Molly probably hadn't been using them for so long, maybe she'd forgotten how. Around her eye-sockets were thin pale rings, where the lenses had once sat. Her black hair was short now, short as a man's. But her makeup was classy, brought out her eyes, working with the way her face was aging instead of trying to hide it.

Molly stepped aside, granted her entry. Timidly, Rikki entered the room.

"Why'd you lose the lenses?"

Molly looked at her, with those green eyes. "Why'd you change your Ikons?"

Rikki got the point. She glanced at Molly's nails. They were mother-of-pearl now, but still looked artificial.

"Still got those claws?" Rikki asked casually, and hoped she wouldn't be answered with a demonstration.

The blades slid just a hint from under their housing. "Can't be too careful," Molly smiled.

Rikki got nervous when Molly closed the door and bolted it. "I ain't gonna give you my life's story," Molly pinched two beers from the fridge, handed one to Rikki, "on account that'd mean giving up parts of _other_ people's life stories. Not a smart move on my part, ya dig?"

Rikki nodded, and popped open her beer.

"Speaking of which," Molly flopped onto the bed, sitting hunched over, mother-of-pearl nails dangling over the edge. "You used me in your stim about the Sprawl. Bitch."

Rikki offered a tiny smile, shrugged. "I had my career to think about. I was driven."

"Your fucking career helped some assholes track and blackmail me." Molly said flatly.

Rikki gapped stupidly, and finally mumbled, "…sorry 'bout that."

"You're damn right you'll be sorry. Because I just cut a deal with some real powerful people, erased all evidence of my existence from any records. So those docus of yours now have gaps where a certain character once appeared."

Rikki felt her eyes widen. "I hid your identity! Your name was edited out! How…?"

Molly just sat there, chucking sadistically, and raised her beer for a sip.

Rikki sighed deeply. "So what name you wanna go by for this interview?"

Molly shrugged. "You pick one. Just not Molly, Sally or Misty. You gonna edit that last sentence out, right?"

"Yep. Okay, how about," she shook her head, shrugged. "Jane."

Molly made a face. "Guess it's better than Misty Steele. Okay, what'cho wanna know from 'Jane?'"

"Oookay, Jane," Rikki folded her arms, leaned against the hotel wall. "I get to hear about that story, those guys 'blackmailed you? Or is that one of the off-limit topics?"

"For now it's gotta be off-limits, cops on my ass n' all. You're editing this so no one sees my face, hears my real voice, right?"

"I got it on audio only. And set up to automatically splice a stock voice over yours."

"'Kay, well, Dali here's gonna make sure you're telling the truth, if you don't mind."

A tiny Indian boy sitting in the corner, who Rikki hadn't noticed, looked up from a computer deck. Teenager, probably another one of Molly's hired street techies, like the Finn. Dali spent a couple minutes checking Rikki with some scanning equipment. Once he and Molly were convinced they could trust her, the interview began.

"Okay," Molly crossed her legs on the bed. "I got a story for you, Rikki. Not gonna tell you the whole thing, just the part that'll make your rich. Assuming anyone believes it, of course, which they might not. There's so many stories out there, already, about when It Changed…"

* * *

 **A/N: It's never stated for a fact that Molly removed her lenses at the end of "Mona Lisa Overdrive," but I always took that to be the implication, when she says she's off to go "be my fucking self for a change."**


End file.
